He heard the thought, though she tried hard to repress it. Will.
"It could have been a lot of people," Tristan said quickly. "Gregory or Eric. Or Will," he added as softly as possible. "Or even that guy who visits Caroline's grave and leaves her red roses."
"I saw a long-stemmed rose there."
"Did you see him?" Tristan asked as Ivy peeked inside the open cupboards.
Most of them were empty, but she found a flashlight in a shallow drawer.
"No. What's he look like?"
"Tall, slim, dark-haired," Tristan replied. "His name is Tom Stetson, and he works at Andrew's college.
Lacey followed him around at your Labor Day party. Ever hear anyone talk about him?"
Ivy shook her head, then said suddenly, "If I shake my head, or make a face, I guess you don't know it when you're inside me."
"I know it. I feel it. I love it when you smile."
The smile grew so that it seemed to wrap itself around him.
"So what do you think?" Ivy asked. "Was Tom Stetson Caroline's new love? Was he involved somehow?"
"I don't know," Tristan said, "but both he and Gregory must have a key to this house. I think Tom's the one who's been boxing things up."
"And searching through cupboards and drawers at the same time," Ivy said.
"Maybe."
She reached for the string around her neck and pulled out the key that was dangling beneath her shirt.
Under the beam of the flashlight, its silver shaft and two jagged teeth gleamed.
"Well, I'm the one who's got the key," she said. "Now if we can just find the lock…"
They began to search together. In the living room they discovered a desk with a locked drawer which had been forced open. Close by, on the mantel, was a box with a brass lock whose hinges had been broken. It now lay empty. Ivy tested the key in both locks and found that it had not been made for either.
In the bedroom Tristan called Ivy's attention to a rectangular design pressed into a bureau cloth, as if a heavy box had sat there for a long time but was gone now. Caroline's closet was still full of shoes and purses, which looked as if they had been searched. Ivy pulled them out and felt behind them. They moved on to other rooms. An hour and a half later, their search had turned up nothing.
"There's a lot of junk here, but we're not getting anywhere," Tristan said, frustrated.
Ivy sank down in the corner of the hallway. He noticed that she avoided sitting in any of Caroline's chairs.
"The problem is, we don't know what's been carried out of here already or where it's been carried to," Ivy observed. "If only we had some clue about what we were looking for."
"How about Beth?" Tristan asked suddenly. "What if we got her to help?
She has a sixth sense. Maybe if you show her the key, let her hold it and meditate on it, she'll be able to tell us where to look-at least give us a hint."
"Good idea." Ivy glanced at her watch. "Can you come with me?"
Tristan knew that he shouldn't. He was tired and needed to pace himself if he wanted to keep from falling into the darkness. But he couldn't give her up. Something told him there was not much time left for him to spend with Ivy.
"I'll come, but I'd better just observe," he said. He was quiet most of the way to Beth's house.
Mr. Van Dyke must have been getting used to Ivy's calling at unexpected times. Standing in the doorway, he glanced at her over his half glasses and law brief, hollered "Beth!" and left Ivy to find her way upstairs.
Tristan was startled by the sight of Beth and her room, but Ivy told him silently, "She's been writing."
Beth blinked at Ivy as if she were worlds away. A binder clip held her hair in a lopsided ponytail. An old pair of glasses sat partway down her nose; they also were lopsided, since they were missing an arm. She wore baggy gym shorts and scuzzy-looking slippers with animal heads on them and popcorn embedded in their fur.
Ivy reached toward Beth and pulled a yellow Post-it off her T-shirt.
"'Lovely, lingering, delicate, devious, delicious,'" she read, then said, "I'm really sorry about barging in like this."
"That's okay," Beth replied cheerfully, and reached for the Post-it. "I was looking for this-thanks."
"It's just that we need your help."
"We? Oh." Beth closed the bedroom door quickly and cleared a spot on the bed, dumping folders and notebooks on the floor. She studied Ivy's face, then smiled. "Hello, Mr. Glow," she said to Tristan.
"Beth, do you remember the envelope Eric's sister gave me?" Ivy asked.
Tristan saw the sudden brightness in Beth's eyes. She had watched Ivy open the envelope at the cemetery and must have been dying with curiosity.
"This is what was in it." Ivy pulled out the key and placed it in Beth's hand.
"It looks as if it goes to a box," Beth said, "or a drawer. It could be an old door key, but I don't think so-it doesn't look long enough."
"The envelope it came in had Caroline's name and address on it," Ivy said. "We've been searching her house but can't find what it goes to. Can you work on it? You know, keep it for a while and think about it and see if anything comes to you?"
Tristan saw Beth draw back. "Oh, Ivy, I-" "Please."
"She's afraid," Tristan said softly to Ivy. "You have to help her. Her own predictions have frightened her."
"I'm not asking you to predict anything," Ivy said quickly. "Just hold it and think about it and see what comes to you. No matter how strange or ordinary it seems, it may be a clue to tell us where to look."
Beth looked down at the key. "I wish you hadn't asked me, Ivy. When I do something like this, it stirs up all kinds of other things in my mind, things I don't understand, things that frighten me sometimes." She turned and looked longingly at the computer screen on her desk, where the cursor blinked, waiting for her to return to her story. "I wish you hadn't asked me."
"Okay, I understand," Ivy said, picking up the key.
Beth's hand closed around Ivy's. Tristan could feel how cold and clammy it was. "Leave it with me till tomorrow," she said. "I'll give it back to you at school. Maybe something will come to me."
Ivy threw her arms around her friend. "Thank you. Thank you. I wouldn't have asked you if it weren't important."
A few minutes later Ivy headed home. "You're still with me," she said as she turned up the long driveway.
The happiness in her voice warmed Tristan, but he could not throw off his weariness and a growing sense of dread that the darkness would soon overtake him. What if he was in the darkness when Ivy needed him most?
"I'll stay with you until you get to your room," he said. "Then I'll return to Beth's."
As they passed a bush Ivy suddenly bent down. "Ella? Ella, come out and say hello. Your buddy is with me."
The cat's green eyes glinted at them, but she didn't budge.
"Ella, come on, what's wrong?"
Ella mewed, and Ivy reached into the bushes to pull her out. She lifted up the cat, rubbing her in her favorite spot around her ears. The cat didn't purr.
"What's wrong with you?" Ivy said, then gasped. Tristan felt the shudder run through her as if it rip pled through his own body. Ivy turned the cat over gently. Along her right flank was a stripe where fur had been roughly stripped away. Her pink skin was scraped bloody and raw.
"Ella, how did this-" But Ivy didn't finish the question. She realized the answer the same moment Tristan did. "Gregory," she said.
Chapter 14
All night Ivy had dreams about Ella, long, winding dreams in which Gregory chased the cat and Ivy chased Gregory. Then just as she got close, he turned on her. Ivy's sleep did not grow peaceful until after the sky was light. Now, with eyes closed against the brightness, she counted the muted gongs from the clock in the dining room. They sounded a million miles away-five million, six million, seven million, eight million-"Eight!" She sat up quickly in bed.
Ella, who had been snuggled close, pressed her body hard against Ivy's, burying her face in Ivy'
s side. As gently as possible, Ivy lifted the cat onto her lap. When she saw the wound again, tears came to her eyes.
"Okay, girl, let's clean you up."
She carefully lifted Ella off the bed and carried her toward the bathroom.
"Ivy, Ivy, aren't you ready yet?" her mother called from downstairs.
Ivy turned and walked out to the hall, staying close enough to the wall to remain hidden from Maggie.
"Almost," she called down.
"Everyone else is gone," Maggie shouted back at her. "I'm leaving now, too."
"See you," Ivy said with relief.
She heard the click-click of her mother's heels on the hardwood floors and the sound of the back door closing. Then she lifted Ella up to her face to look at the wound again. The cut was straight, as if made by a sharp razor.
The previous night Tristan had had to use all of his powers of persuasion to restrain her from charging into Gregory's room. This morning she knew Tristan had been right to hold her back. She'd confront Gregory, but when she was cool and calm. Gregory wanted to see her upset, and her anger would just encourage him.
"Okay, baby, everything's going to be all right," Ivy soothed Ella as she reentered her room.
The morning sun was high enough now to flood the room and stream across the top of her bureau, brightening every speck of dust and picking up flecks of gold paint in the frame around Tristan's picture.
Ivy gazed at the picture for a moment, then pulled back. In front of it were shavings of black hair-Ella's fur. Ivy held Ella against her with one arm and reached out to touch the soft fur. Then she picked up a lock of curling gold hair.
Her hair! Someone had cut a piece of her own hair.
Gregory, of course. Ivy sank down into a chair next to the bureau and rocked back and forth, hugging Ella.
When had he done it? How?
Every night since the day Tristan had told her what he knew about Gregory, Ivy had locked the bedroom door that led to the hall. There was another entrance, however, through the bathroom that connected her room and Philip's. Ivy had rigged the latch on that door so that Philip could push it open in an emergency, but not without a lot of effort and noise.
Somehow Gregory had worked it silently. Her skin prickled all over, thinking of him holding a pair of scissors, bending over her while she was asleep.
Ivy took a deep breath and stood up again. She cleaned up Ella, then wiped off the top of the bureau, her hands still trembling. Then on a sudden impulse she rushed into Gregory's room, wanting to see for herself the scissors, the razor, the proof of what he had done.
She started picking up and throwing papers and clothes and magazines.
From between the pages of_ Rolling Stoneø_ a piece of art paper slipped out. It was folded in half and had dark printing inside. When Ivy opened it, her heart stopped. She recognized the handwriting instantly: the strong, slanting style was identical to that of the captions on Will's cartoons.
She read through the note quickly, then read it again very slowly, word by word, like a first grader surprised by each set of printed letters and what they meant. As she read Will's note she kept telling herself that these weren't his words-they couldn't be. But he had signed it.
"Gregory," he had written, "I want more. If you're serious about it, you'll bring twice the amount. I'm taking a chance, I'm an accomplice now-you've got to make it worth it. Bring twice the money if you want the cap and jacket."
Ivy closed her eyes and leaned against Gregory's desk. She felt as if her heart were being squeezed, transformed into a small stone. When all was done, there would be nothing soft left inside her, nothing left that could bleed… or cry.
She opened her eyes again. Tristan had been right all along about Gregory and Will. But Tristan hadn't guessed how Will would betray her-how he'd cover for Gregory and leave her vulnerable if paid the right price.
Ivy felt beaten, not by Gregory's hatred and dark threats, but by the pale heartlessness of Will. What was the point of trying? she thought There was too much going against her. She slipped the letter back in the magazine. Then she saw a tattered book about Babe Ruth, one of Philip's paperbacks, on top of Gregory's pile.
She had to keep going. Philip was in this with her.
Opening the magazine again, she snatched up the letter, then hurried back across the hall to dress for school. Before leaving the house that morning, Ivy brought Ella's water bowl and dry food up to her room.
She left Ella there, locking both the bath-room and hall doors.
Ivy had missed homeroom. When she entered English class with a late slip, Beth lifted her head. She looked tired and worried. Ivy winked, and Beth smiled a little.
After class they walked together, trying to get away from the crowd of kids surging through the hall.
Nothing could be heard over the talk and banging locker doors unless it was shouted. Ivy linked arms with her friend and opened the palm of her hand. Immediately Beth slipped the key into it.
When they finally reached an empty room at the end of the corridor, Beth said, "Ivy, we have to talk. I had a dream last night. I don't know what it means, but I think-" The school bell rang.
"Oh, no, I've got a test next period."
"Lunchtime," Ivy said. "Try for the table back in the corner," she added as they parted.
Two hours later Ivy got lucky. Ms. Bryce, the school counselor, let her out early for lunch, saying how pleased she was by Ivy's progress, her fresh hope and positive attitude toward life. I guess drama club pays off, Ivy thought as she staked out the small table in the corner of the cafeteria. Beth joined her a few minutes later.
"Will's in line. Should I wave him over here?" Beth asked.
Ivy chewed her sandwich quickly and swallowed hard. Will was the last person in the world she wanted to see. But Beth still trusted him. She was already signaling to him.
"Did you mention anything to Will about the key or our search?" Ivy asked.
"No."
"Good," Ivy said. "Don't. I don't want him to know about it-not yet," she added, softening her tone when she saw the surprised look on Beth's face.
"But Will might have some good ideas," Beth said, opening her lunch bag, pulling out her usual first course-dessert "I'm sure he'd want to help you search."
No doubt, thought Ivy. Who knows what he'd find that might be worth some money.
"You know how he feels about you," Beth added.
Ivy couldn't squelch her sarcasm. "Oh, yeah, I know, all right."
Beth blinked at her. "Ivy, he'd do anything for you.' And make some bucks while doing it, Ivy thought, but this time she spoke more carefully. "Maybe you're right, Beth, but still, don't tell him, okay?"
Beth's eyebrows drew together. She wouldn't argue further, but she clearly thought Ivy was making a mistake.
"Tell me what you dreamed last night," Ivy said.
Her friend shook her head slowly. "It was weird, Ivy, so simple but so weird. I dreamed the same thing over and over. I don't know if it had anything to do with the key, but it was about you."
"Tell me," Ivy said, leaning close to her while keeping one eye on Will's progress in the cafeteria line.
"There were these big wheels," Beth recalled, J "two, three, I don't know how many. Big wheels with rough edges, notches in them, like tractor wheels or snow tires or something. They were all turning one way. Then you came. There was nothing else in the dream but you and the wheels. You put out your hand and stopped them. Then you pushed, and the wheels all started spinning the opposite way."
She fell silent. Her eyes had a faraway look, as if she were seeing the dream again.
"And?"
"That's it," Beth said. "That's all I dreamed, over and over."
Ivy sat back in her chair, puzzled. "Do you have any idea what it means?" she asked.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Beth replied. "Ivy, here comes Will. Why don't we tell him and-" "No," she said quickly.
Beth bit her lip. Ivy looked down at the
soggy layers of her sandwich.
"Hi!" said Will, scraping back a chair and setting down his tray. "What's up?"
"Nothing much," Ivy said, avoiding his eyes.
"Beth?"
"Nothing much," she echoed lamely.
Will was silent for a moment. "How come you were late this morning?" he asked Ivy.
She glanced up sharply. "How do you know I was late?"
"Because I was, too." Will tilted his head a little, as if he was trying to read her.
Ivy looked away.
"I came in just after you," he said, then reached for her hand, touching her lightly, trying to get her to look at him again. She would not.
"What's wrong?"
She hated the innocent and concerned tone of his voice.
"Beth? Tell me what it is."
Ivy peeked up at her friend. Beth shrugged, and Will glanced back and forth between them. His face was calm and thoughtful, like that of a teacher patiently searching for an answer, but his hands gave him away, gripping the edge of his tray.
Now he's worried, Ivy thought, really worried, but not about me. He thinks we both know the truth about him.
Will sucked in his breath, then said quietly, "Surprise. Here comes Gregory."
Ivy looked up, hoping to see Suzanne with him. If Suzanne put in her usual effort at snubbing her, Ivy would have an excuse to walk out. But Gregory came alone, striding confidently toward them, smiling, as if they were all good buddies.
"Will greeted him.
"I didn't know you were off this period," Ivy said.
"My history class is in the library," he told her. "I'm doing research, can't you tell?"
Ivy laughed lightly, determined to seem as much at ease as he. "What's your topic?"
"Famous murders of the nineteenth century," Gregory replied, pulling out a chair.
"Learning anything?"
He thought for a moment, then smiled and sat down next to her. "Nothing useful. Will, I'm sorry I missed you last night."
Ivy turned to look at Will.
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